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Strangeness is afoot today because I woke up this morning not certain what I wanted to say, and I’m still not certain. Although I can point out that I finished the first scene of Chapter Twelve last night–

‘Tiss but a short thing, relatively speaking.

I haven’t put anything together for the Science March yet because I feel like I’m recovering from that still. I’ve come to realize that I have a shitload of stuff going on in my life, and I need to find some balance before my real recapping work starts this summer. I swear, this girl never seems to have a down moment.

Let’s talk about writing. In fact, let’s talk about a particular genre of writing with which I was once involved…

At one time I was a pretty good erotica writer.

Now, I don’t mean like I did a great job writing Fifty Shades of Gray style stories. I’ve tried my hand at a few of those and it didn’t turn out well. See, for me to really be good, I need to get into fantasy, or at least something with a bit of unrealness to it. I just can’t do real life.

Suggestive Amusements was like that. One of the classical muses comes to Las Vegas and helps out a struggling writer and all is well. Oh, and there was a bit of a lover’s triangle in there as well and not a bit of sex, either. I had a lot of fun writing it, coming up with histories for a few of my characters, having my muse characters–and at least one goddess–have conversations, and I used the story to work out some frustrations I had with one job.

I haven’t written anything like that since.

Since 2013 I’ve been preoccupied with a little opus that seems to take up all my writing time. When I’m not working on the novel I’m doing TV recaps that also keep me pretty busy. There isn’t time to go back and work on extemporaneous stories that take away from the trials and tribulations of my witchy kids.

And, the reality of writing being what it is, I haven’t even thought about penning another story.

Hold on there… That’s not exactly true.

Of late there’s been another story bouncing about in my head that is, more or less, completely thought out. If I actually sat down and wrote it out, it might take me a week to finish and another week to polish. I thought this particular fantasy erotica story would vanish much like the one before had come and gone over the period of a few days, but no: it’s still there. Demanding attention. Demanding to be let out.

I really don’t want to waste my time with something that I feel is gonna be a diversion of time that can be better spent doing other things, but dammit if this won’t let me go. Maybe it’s time to admit that there are moments in your life when you have to listen to your muse and take the road not traveled in a while, visit that path, enjoy the sights–

First there will be some geek talk, and then I’m Bringing Back Sexy in an open and honest way. If you don’t want the sexy, read the two paragraphs after this one and bid the page Audios! No harm, no foul, and You Have Been Warned.

Onward.

For the last few days I’ve found myself in some rather interesting conversations. Naturally, because of my geeky nature, and those of others I know, we’ve chatting up a lot of Doctor Who this week because it’s time to come up with another Doctor, and for us who are into this sort of thing, we like to talk about it. It also helps that BBCA has been running shows all week, so that gives us the opportunity to re-watch episodes that we’ve already seen a dozen times, and snark on about what we like and what we don’t like.

“Seriously, she thinks Rose is the best companion? I’m gonna have to set this bitch straight: that’s what The Internet is for!”

It’s been a lot of fun chatting this stuff up, particularly since I consider myself to not only be an expert on the show–because I’m old and from Chicago, which was one of the only places that used to air the show in North America in the 1970’s and 1980’s–and because I’ve personally turned a few people onto the show over the years and made them nearly as geeky as me. Nearly, I say. That means when the lowdown on trivia is needed, and information is required for aspect that elude others, I’m the Go To Girl for All of Time and Space. Just call me Idris, because I may as well travel around like that.

It’s a lovely diversion, but it’s not the only one . . .

‘Cause now comes Sexy Time. You want more? Come on in.

You ready? Let’s go, let’s go.

. . .

. . .

. . .

There’s another conversation I’ve been falling into as well, and that’s something we, in the one group I’m in–are calling our “Sex Education Talk.” Though “sex education is really a bit of a misnomer: it’s more like the ladies getting together and talking about kinky-ass sex–in some cases actual kinky ass sex. It’s really been all over the place, particularly in the area of toys, which seem to get used a lot. I don’t have a problem with toys, or lotions, or wearing articles of clothing to help ramp up the passion and sensuality, or just the out-and-out Let’s Get Down and Bang This Gong feeling that’s gonna hit in any second now. Particularly this last, because if they’re one thing I love, it’s sexy clothing or night gowns, or even a bit of fetish wear if you can find some that (a) fits and (b) doesn’t feel like you’re encased in something unyielding. Unless that’s exactly what you want . . .

“Hi, honey. Guess what’s for dinner? Tacos! You better say ‘I’m so hungry’ if you know what’s good for you–“

It’s refreshing to sit and read some of the things my lady friends have experienced, some of the wildness they’ve gotten into, and some of the advice they have for those who may be less experienced in this area. Because if there’s one thing we’re not open about is sex. Particularly these days, when you have buttheads running for public offices who say watching women walk around topless will lead to men becoming gay. Dude: projection is a total bitch. You should do something about that.

I haven’t said much about sex in the group simply because most of what I know these days ends up on the printed page. Sure, I’ve written erotica, most of which is pretty strange, and probably goes well beyond anything my friends would ever consider–unless it is their total kink to turn into a human-like centaur with the fully functioning genitals of both genders, and then have a couple of women get down on them. Then they’re right up there in my ballpark, ’cause that’s how my mind works.

I am happy to know sexy is alive and well with all kinds of people, but I’m also a little saddened because it’s not something I experience. Intimacy is something I haven’t known in some time, and likely isn’t in the cards for some time to come. That’s kinda of choice, and it’s . . . well, complicated, just like time travel. The reasons for it I won’t divulge, but needless to say depression played a part there, a singular lack of love played another part–and these days I’m so uncomfortable with my body that it’s difficult for me to think about getting intimate with myself.

I’ve had the “sex talk” with my HRT doctor. We’ve discussed the changes I’m going through, which is really nothing short of Puberty Mk 2. My doctor is also trans, so she’s been through the same thing I’m going through, and had some advice for “exploring,” if we wish to call it that. My reactions are decidedly feminine these days; stimulation starts in different places within the body than where they happened before. There are physical reactions now that were never present in the past, and with continuing hormone treatment those reactions will become more pronounced and intense.

I did reassure my doctor that I wasn’t about to go running around town looking to score because that’s never been my style. I’ve always been tentative about meeting other people face-to-face, and I’ve always been uncomfortable about my body and putting it on display for others. Even more so now, because with the physical changes I’m also experiencing the insecurity that comes with those changes.

While I would love to get a sexy night gown and feel good about myself, I’m afraid I wouldn’t, just because it’s hard for me to feel that way.

This is my idea of sexy night gowns, though my sack of potatoes body wouldn’t look nearly as nice. Also, I’ll do without the Hello Kitty slippers as well.

It’s taking time to get to the place where I’ll be as comfortable talking about vibrating rings and beads and schoolgirl outfits as my friends–though I really sort of see myself as the domineering Headmistress in the corset dress wearing her shiny black boots, so watch out, girls. That doesn’t mean I can’t write about it, and I have developed some good ideas that could turn into short, hot stories. And once I’m though with this monster of a novel I could just do that–

Or maybe I should jump in and write about a woman who spends so much time in a sexy crocheted body suit that she just can’t find the time to take it off–

It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood, I’m awake and alive (the two can be, at times, mutually exclusive), and I made it through another Saturday which wasn’t one of the best, but it was better than I expected. There wasn’t as much writing as expected–I feel just short of six hundred words before I was busy doing some research during the afternoon, and there were distractions like Where Eagles Dare being on TCM (bit of trivia: it has the highest body count of any Clint Eastwood movie–total 100 people–and it was the last movie where he didn’t receive top billing) and then Orphan Black Season Two starting an hour and a half later, seestras. But the quantity isn’t important: it’s the quality. And it ended with one of the more important things I’ve written for the story:

(Excerpt from The Foundation Chronicles, Book One: A For Advanced, copyright 2013, 2014, by Cassidy Frazee)

Annie patted the envelope with her right hand. “Ms. Rutherford left prepaid debit cards with £200 on them for us to use. No need to worry about money for the day.”

“Oh.” Kerry’s eyes took on a far away look as he seemed to consider Annie’s words.

Seeing the indecision on Kerry’s face, Annie knew the time had come to push the forty-four percent odds in her favor. She reached out and touched his hand; Kerry’s head swiveled around to face her immediately. “Would you like to do something? Would you like to go somewhere with me, Kerry?”

Yeah, those last two questions are going to come back a few more times in this scene, and later–well, I know what sort of importance they play much later in the story, and the effects are going to be fairly tramatic. You wouldn’t think that would be the case, but it will. It’s gonna tear someone’s heart out.

Don’t worry: they’ll get better.

Yesterday’s post seemed to generate a few of my more interesting comments, which were along the lines of, “Wait, there’s werewolf erotica? Since when?” Since people were writing, that’s when. Off the top of my head I can’t remember the actual title, but back in the days when Rome was pretty much kicking everyone’s ass, one of the more popular books around had the main character turn into an ass and head off some sexual adventures. It has been pointed out by no greater an authority on the mater than Cracked.com (I was biting my inner lip when I wrote that) that strange fetishes have been around a long time–sometimes centuries, sometimes a lot longer than we’d like to admit there’s recorded history.

I like to make fun of the various sorts of erotica out there on the Internet, until I remember that (1) these people are writing, and (2) some of them are selling a lot. What that says about people in general I’ll leave to you, because if you read some of my stranger erotica, you’d likely lump me in with the dino porn women.

If you are curious about the the sort of things out there, never fear! I’m gonna show you, because I’m that sort of gal. Click on any of these links at risk of your own sanity, and lets remember that every link takes you to that wonderful purveyor of reading material, Amazon.com, and not some shady, back-asswards website where the Internet has crawled off to die.

Not much writing wise got accomplished last night–and yet, there was. It was a weird, raining night (not dark and stormy, mind you) and I had to door to my balcony open and my fleece jacket on while I did my nails and thought about writing scenes. I kept walking from the computer to the balcony, where I would take in the night air–and the noise of the street twelve stories below–while I let my nails dry. It’s a great way to think and let you mind work on ideas–

I worked on a story. Only it wasn’t my current work in progress. I was thinking along the lines of erotica, because I’ve reread some of the stuff I did years back and I’m interesting in publishing it under another name and seeing if this generates any cash. Be my luck that I’ll end up selling big and I’ll spend the rest of my life writing all sorts of strange stuff for the masses to wank to.

But I believe Gore Vidal started out this way, so there are worse paths to follow.

I also spoke with a friend who read a few of those stories–I’d sent them her way Thursday night–and she told me she’d had a difficult time sleeping because, well, I apparently brought back sexy. She’s also an illustrator, and she let me know she had a few ideas about a couple of the scenes, and she wanted to work up a few preliminary sketches to show. I let her know that if I liked them I’d commission a few more for the story, and use them when I publish–which, honestly, I now feel is a bigger possibility that it was a few months before.

Which brings me back to the current work . . . the Great Cassie Novel on Hold.

Today or tomorrow I’m going to go into one of the scenes and rewrite part of it. If I like what I see, I’ll move on to another scene which needs a rewrite after the previous rewrite didn’t feel right. If I’m satisfied there, then I’ll move on to the new scene that need recreating, and then rewrite the scene that follows.

I know my focus there now, and I have a better feel for the characters. I say I may start the rewrite today because I still have things to work out in the character map, and there’s a few things I want to do with Kerry as well.

The rewrite is coming, however, because yesterday was a Dance on a Volcano sort of day, and it was necessary to, as the lyrics say, get out of the night and out of the dark, into the fire and into the fight. One as to make up their mind if they’re going to continue or just cut and run–and I decided there really isn’t any choice for me. It’s finish the story in a form that isn’t going to embarrass me, and by that I mean I can live with the characters. It won’t be an easy struggle, but I’m certain I’ll find my way through the death zone of expectations that didn’t pan out.

“Death zone my ass. You wanna see a death zone? Watch what I do with the whole London section.”

The novel will get finished. That’s all there is to that crap. Just need to stop being worried and get through what needs to be done.

One scene down, five scenes remaining for this last chapter. A couple of scenes–or at least one–won’t be that long. Then again, last night’s scenes clocked in at a little over sixteen hundred words, and that’s not a lot for one of my scenes. One scenes may actually come in at under a thousand words, though that remains to be seen.

At the worse I’ll finish in ten days, at best I could wrap all this up in less than a week. A good push over this weekend could see me finishing up before next weekend–or I may finish up next Saturday or Sunday. Either way, I see the end, and I know when it’s coming.

Then it’s on to other projects.

One of those projects included editing a manuscript for someone else. Big push time after I’m through with my story, and spend a few hours every night cleaning it up. But what of my tales? Well, I got a plan here.

Now, it has been mentioned once or twice that long ago and far away, I used to write fiction that had very little to do with what I write now. I would say that I wrote erotic fetish fantasies, while others would likely say smut, and a few would go so far as to condemn it as over-the-top porn.

Regardless what you might call it, a few years back I sold a set of four interconnecting stories that were rather unusual, rather strange, and in their own way rather steamy. My total sale was forty dollars, and I rack that up as my first professional sale. What was really cool was that they were illustrated, with covers and a set of four inside pictures. It was really pretty classy, if I say so myself, and I was actually quite proud to see the project come together. I even have all the covers and illustrations that were made, but due to the fact I don’t own the copyrights on the pictures–and I’d promised I would never show them to anyone–it is unlikely they will ever see the light of day.

The rights to the stories, however, reverted back to me last year. I checked the contract that I’d signed, and I’m well past the point where I can publish these stories under a pseudonym of my own choosing. Because, why not? They are written, they are edited, and about all I need is a crappy cover and I’m ready to rock.

I even have my smutty author name picked out, one that I can slap onto the cover and say, “Lookie here, sexy girl publishing sexy stories!” Or something like that. Probably won’t be anywhere near that exciting, or even that sexy.

The thing is, I have another erotica story, that I sold a couple of years ago, and the rights of that story will revert to me. So if I want to put that sucker out there under another name, I can. And then there’s Fantasies in Harmonie, which needs a good cleaning and a cover, whereupon it’s set to go live for the unsuspecting world to discover.

“I didn’t know you could do that with your body. Or another body. Or . . . what the hell am I reading?

That’s just one of the things I’m looking to do. There are others, but this is one.

It’s waiting for me to do something, too. I’d be a fool not to take it by the hand and lead it into the light.

Here is it, the one and only, my 1000th post. After nearly three straight years of coming here to share, with my audience and followers, my almost-innermost thoughts, I have reached a most impressive goal.

“What is the point? In the end it’s all darkness and misery, leading to a lonely, pointless death.”

Thanks, Frank. I knew I could count on you to bring the good times to the party.

At least there are others who feel differently . . .

“I already knew your inner thoughts and secrets–your passwords were easy to break, even with the encryption. You are a sad, foolish girl.”

Ray of sunshine you are, Lisbeth. Don’t you have a large Swedish corporation to take down?

What started me down this strange path? Well, to be honest, writing. Not writing a blog, however. No, not at all. When I first started this sucker I was going in fits and starts, and my postings were uneven. I had nothing to say, I just posted things here and wondered if anyone would read them. And frankly, I gave very few shits if anyone did.

What started me working hard on the blog was when I was writing my novella Kuntilanak. I wanted to get into the habit of writing, and it wasn’t just enough to work on the story, because I was afraid I would–as I had done many times before–just give up somewhere along the line.

Then came the brilliant idea: what if I talked about writing my story by writing on my blog? It’s simple: I work on the story in the morning, do a little editing in the afternoon, and at some point in between I’d set up a post detailing my writing exploits. Not exactly the greatest idea in the world, but it kept me writing my story–and it’s kept me writing my blog.

And how much have I kept writing. I went back and looked, and found that the last day I didn’t post an entry was 24 March, 2012, a couple of months short of two years ago. However, there were two posts on 23 March because of something that kept me from posting on the 24th. So it’s not really a missed day, just a day where I posted the day before. The last day where nothing was written: 8 September, 2011. Which, if you’re following the details of current work in progress, is the actual day Kerry is shocked so badly by the Queen of Sorcery, Helena Lovecraft, that he ends up spending the night in the hospital.

Coincidence? You tell me.

So much has changed since that summer of 2011. Since then I’ve been through three jobs, and I’ve moved for two of them. I still suffer from depression, but not nearly as much as back in 2010 and 2011. I cry more, but that’s because I feel more, I’m not cut off from my emotions any longer. I finally came to grips with my gender dysphoria, began seeing a therapist and came out, and now spend a reasonable portion of my life as female (as opposed to Life in Technicolor, but you can blame Coldplay for that).

Most of all I write. I write stories, and I write on my blog. I’ve sold one story and self-published two. My sales are crap, but I’m keeping at it. 2014 is the year I start sending more things out, because I’ve got a slush pile and a half waiting, and it’s time to move that monster. Talk is cheap, and I got bills to pay.

Yesterday and today I looked over my posts and my stats, and decided to list my ten biggest posts in the history of this blog. We aren’t talking huge numbers here, and with the exception of one time when I was sort of damned with faint praise by someone who said, “You only get about forty hits a day? I thought you were huge. I get more than that,” I’m happy with my few thousand followers who literally come from everywhere on the planet.

Behold my Global Empire!

Since I’ve always wanted to do this, allow me to offer up my own top ten.

This was about my idea file, and how something I’d thought about using for an old story in the file was considered for a much later story I wanted to write. This is the only post from 2014 to make my top ten.

In the run-up to NaNoWriMo 2013 I went into a lot of detail about how I set up my novel, and some of the things I was doing with time lines. This was the third of my “October Three” where I had fantastic hits for three posts in a row. Just as I did layers of scenes, this showed how to do layers of timelines within timelines.

My first “Daily Excursion” post after arriving in Harrisburg, PA. I ran up to Centralia, PA–which was once used as inspiration for the art direction of the movie Silent Hill–walked around, got pictures, and lived to tell the tale.

This is the only one of my rants that made the top ten. It was about how PayPal was getting crappy about being used to pay for what it saw as smut, and how it arbitrarily decided to impose rules that screwed over a lot of writers. Things are much better now, unless you write monster smut . . .

The oldest of my top tens, this one puzzles me. I was four days into my first NaNoWriMo, hard at work on Her Demonic Majesty, and I threw this one up pretty fast. And for some reasons it has pulled in nearly three hundred hits. Must be the demons . . .

And this is another puzzle. Why? Because nothing much is said here. Well, actually, there is, but it doesn’t make that much sense. I was sleep deprived, I hated my job, I was almost hallucinating. It was the day before I turned 55, and the incident I speak off while dining, I did think someone I knew was dining with me. And then they weren’t, and it killed me. I’ve always wondered if there was some kind of bot that drove the numbers up. Not that it maters today.

This was the first post where I really got into talking about the wonders of editing, and though most writers hate it, about this time was when I was starting to love it. And so I have to post my love.

The oldest of my posts with more than one hundred views, this is where I started talking about Scrivener, and how much it was helping my writing and my story telling. What was nice about this post was there was a comment from the Scrivener people, saying they enjoyed the kind words I had for their product. That was when it first hit me: there are people out there actually reading this stuff!

In looking over some of my old posts I saw likes from people who no longer blog, who have vanished from the face of the Internet, who I wonder about. Blogging isn’t something you stick with day in and out for years. I’m probably one of the strange examples, getting up every morning and cranking out my five hundred words, or more, before starting out my day. And if any of you who used to blog, who I used to see every day, are still out there following me–hey, I miss you guys. Hope your life is treating you well, because we all need that.

What comes next? No more special posts for a while, that’s for sure. If I do another, it’ll come when I reach my 2,500th post, which over four years away. And that begs the question:

When will I stop blogging?

Because everything comes to an end, doesn’t it? In four years I’ll be sixty-one, and I can’t say if I’ll still show up here, blogging every day, or if I’ll still continue churning out stories that no one reads. Or if I’ll even be alive, cause the next eleven hour run back to Northwest Indiana could see me flying off the side of the Pennsylvania Turnpike at high speed into a valley, all the time regretting nothing.

Or perhaps I will have reached my dream of being a full-time writer, and I can be like Chuck and blog to all the word slaves out there (the penmonkeys are his), giving them encouragement and telling them why they shouldn’t stop, because look at me, I made it.

I won’t be quitting any time soon. I can’t. I still feel as if I have something to say. But should it become time to move on and find my wide awake dreams elsewhere, I’ll fall back on this quote–something I heard over Christmas, and something that speaks to me of what can be the finality of change:

“Times change and so must I. We all change when you think about it. We’re all different people all through our lives. And that’s ok, that’s good, as long as you keep moving, as long as you remember all the people that you used to be. I will not forget one line of this, not one day, I swear. I will always remember when The Doctor was me.” The Eleventh Doctor, The Time of the Doctor.

I’m not quite as good at The Doctor, but I do remember so much of who I’ve been these last three years. I remember the people I’ve known, those who’ve been a pain in my ass, and those whose friendship and help I have cherished through the years.

And I remember those who have left their mark on me in such a way that it will never be erased.

A thousand down, and still more to come. Until then, there must be no regrets, no tears, no anxieties. Just go forward in all your beliefs and prove to me that I am not mistaken in mine.

The last couple of weeks has seen the rise of Dino Porn, which if you haven’t been paying attention, or you’ve been living in a cave or meth trailer—which are pretty much the same thing—you’ve missed out on one of those things that tends to get the Internet tongues a-wagging.

But that doesn’t stop the production of Ravaged by the Raptor, Taken by the Pterodactyl, T-Rex Troubles, and Dino and Wilma Make a Porno—oh, wait, that’s Kevin Smith’s next movie. No less than that esteemed cultural critic Cracked.com has weighed in on the matter, and have pretty much declared that the Internet can now be shut down and our libraries burned.

(On a side note to the lady writers in question, can’t Stegosaurus get a little love in your books? Or Ankylosaurus? I mean, if it’s alliteration that you seek, I can think of one for Ankylosaurus. Come on! Lets go for it together. Call me!)

On first glance it’s very easy to make fun of this stuff. I first learned of these stories while roaming the Lousy Book Covers site, and posted the found cover a few days before the tales of Saurian Sex began appearing all over Facebook. I’ve made jokes on this blog about werewolf erotica, vampire erotica, tentacle sex, dragon fantasies that involve more than killing knights and hording gold, and my favorite erotica genre, unicorn porn. I’ll look at these and wonder, first, who is writing this stuff, and that–damn, they’re writing it because there’s a market. Roll over to Amazon and do a search on “Lactating Lesbian Babysitter”, and make sure all the shape objects in the house are put away. You won’t get an exact hit, but the ninety-five you find may keep you entertained.

There is one thing I can’t fault them for:

They’re writing. And they’re writing a lot.

I’ve heard from a few people who’ve said things along the lines of, “I couldn’t write crap like this!” and for a lot of people this is probably true. I’ve written erotica, some of it pretty strange and fetishy, and it’s not an easy thing to do. Sometimes it’s easy to skip the character building moment and go right to the hard core boning. (That last is a technical term, so it’s okay to use it.) Sometimes you just never get the right mood. Sometimes one couldn’t write a sex scene to save their lives.

And then I’ll hear someone talk about the quarter of a million word Harry Potter/Mass Effect crossover fan fiction, where Harry has knocked up Fem Shepard and Luna is running a strip club out of the Hufflepuff commons, and my eyes go crossed . . . I know I shouldn’t do that, but if dino porn isn’t your thing, fan fiction isn’t mine. Such is the world.

Neil Gaiman has written a list of things one needs in order to become a writer. The three I remember the most are write, keep writing, and finish what you write. That last is where I always used to fall down, because I’d start in on a story and about half way through think, “Who’s gonna read this crap?” and just leave it. On another system I left behind about a dozen stories that I’d not finished, and knew I never would. One was an actual novel that I was about a hundred thousand words into . . . it was also something of a fan fiction, and while I’d love to have finished that story, I know it’ll never happen.

Gaiman has also said that, when it comes to people writing fan fiction of his own work, he doesn’t care because no one is going to write something that will change what he knows about those characters, and as long as people are writing, they should keep writing. The Dino Erotica women are not only writing, they’re finishing their work, and they’re selling–probably better than I am with my work. So more power to them, because, like it or not, they are doing what I’m working towards, which is making something of a living off my work.

Which gives me an idea . . . fan fiction dino erotica! I mean, think of the possibilities. First up could be a HP slash fic called Hermione Rides the Hadrosaurus, and I know at least half of you saw, “HARDosaurus”, and now you can’t unsee it. Now all I gotta do is find a picture of a Hadrosaurus and a sexy Emma Watson picture–like there aren’t any of those on the Internet–‘shope the pictures so she’s riding ol’ Hadro like a reptilian pony . . .